


A Trusting Heart

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-23 00:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: Hannibal doesn’t think Face has ever done it deliberately; it’s just the way the kid is, and just the way he will always be, if Hannibal has any say in the matter.It’s charming, in it’s own sweet way, and Face is nothing if not charming. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t driven Hannibal mad with frustration at times. Doesn’t mean there haven’t been moments over the years when he wished the kid would toughen up a little, just a little. Doesn’t mean he will ever stop wishing the kid would grow up and see the world the way it really is.





	A Trusting Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo (indigo_angels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/gifts).



Hannibal doesn’t think Face has ever done it deliberately; it’s just the way the kid is, and just the way he will always be, if Hannibal has any say in the matter.

It’s charming, in it’s own sweet way, and Face is nothing if not charming. Doesn’t mean it hasn’t driven Hannibal mad with frustration at times. Doesn’t mean there haven’t been moments over the years when he wished the kid would toughen up a little, just a little. Doesn’t mean he will ever stop wishing the kid would grow up and see the world the way it really is.

But Hannibal has always felt bad a spilt-second after thinking that. His kid isn’t a kid anymore, hasn’t been one for a long time, and Face has very definitely grown into a strong and determined man in front of Hannibal’s eyes. A handsome and brilliant one, too, yet still, deep down inside, a part of Face is trusting and naïve and vulnerable.

It makes Hannibal want to wrap him up in blankets and keep his Face safe from the world, even though the kid is a Ranger and can certainly protect himself. That might be the only way to stop him getting his heart broken. He’s always been afraid that one day that kind and generous heart would get shattered so badly that Hannibal wouldn’t have been able to put it back together, though that fear is hopefully behind him, thank goodness.

Hannibal has Face wrapped up in blankets now, and safe in his arms at last.

Frankly, it’s a miracle Face’s heart hadn’t been broken already, many years ago. Hannibal knows little about Face’s life before the kid joined the Army, and what little he does know isn’t good. Catholic orphanage, foster homes, group care homes, even homeless for a short time. Face has absolutely no reason to be so trusting, though to be fair it’s true that he certainly doesn’t trust everyone, not without good cause. 

It took Face months to trust Hannibal, even though Hannibal almost certainly saved his life the first time they met.

* * *

“Get off him! That’s enough, all of you.” Wading hip-deep among the brawling recruits, Hannibal paid little attention to exactly which body parts he was grabbing as he tried his hardest to separate the mess of men. The scruff of someone’s neck, a flailing arm, a fistful of hair. “Get away! What are you, animals?”

Gradually the number of bodies started to thin out, a few soldiers peeling themselves away and trying to run, though Hannibal knew they wouldn’t get far. He’d called the MPs as soon as he’d heard the rumour of yet another so-called ‘initiation’, before racing to the scene himself. 

Three recruits had been hospitalised over the last month. One had since resigned his commission, one was facing months of rehab for a badly broken leg, and one was still unconscious. It was only a matter of time before someone was killed.

Not on Hannibal’s watch.

“Fuck, it’s Major Smith!” someone hissed in alarm, trying to slip behind Hannibal and get away, but Hannibal flung out a leg and tripped him to the ground, trying not to feel too much satisfaction at the pained grunt that reached his ears even over the other sounds of panic. 

There must have been as many as twenty originally, all piled on top of whichever poor bastard had been their target tonight, but now Hannibal was down to the last few struggling bodies and finally he could see the still figure lying on the ground, curled into an almost foetal position with arms wrapped protectively around his head.

He could hear others arriving now, MPs and medics no doubt, but he kept his focus on that still body, hurling the last soldiers away head first. He knelt down, rested a tentative hand on a shaking shoulder, and asked, “Hey, kid, can you hear me? It’s over now.”

A soft moan, barely audible through the sounds of shouting and arrests, and Hannibal found himself leaning closer as the soldier unfolded himself a little. “It’s over?” the kid asked, his voice muffled through the cocoon of his arms. “Am I in? Did I make it?”

“Did you… You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hannibal almost growled, tugging on the shoulder to turn the kid over onto his back. The brightest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen blinked up at him from a mud- and tear-streaked face, stealing Hannibal’s breath away for a second before he remembered what they were doing there. “You could’ve been killed! What were you thinking?”

The kid couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, his hair buzzed painfully short though his cheeks showed the shadow of dark evening stubble. He was clearly still growing into his body too, his long arms and legs seeming almost coltish as he sprawled on the muddy ground, and he looked a little confused as he stared up at Hannibal. “Killed? No, it wasn’t like that, sir.”

“Then what exactly was it like?” Hannibal kept his hand firmly on the kid’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground and stopping him from trying to sit up. “Because it looked to me like they were beating the shit out of you for no good reason.”

“That was just part of the initiation,” the kid sighed, struggling under Hannibal’s hold for a moment before giving up with a tiny wince and obediently lying still. “I just had to take it for five minutes, that’s all. I could’ve fought back otherwise.”

Hannibal glared at the waiting medics, keeping them at bay for just a moment longer. The kid obviously wasn’t badly hurt, though Hannibal felt a barely controllable urge to smash his stubborn, trusting head against the floor to get the reality of the situation across. “There were twenty of them, kid,” he pointed out firmly. “You really think they were going to stop after five minutes? And let you into some mythical boys’ club?”

“That’s what they said. It wasn’t like those other times, with those other cadets.”

“Really?” Hannibal actually laughed, and the kid actually looked offended for a second, though a tiny frown appeared on his forehead as he started to think things through properly. It was almost cute, though Hannibal rapidly refocussed himself. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“Peck, sir. Though they call me Face.”

Face, huh. Well, that certainly seemed to suit. Just before the medics finally swept in, their patience wearing thin, Hannibal leaned down closer and stared into those shining blue eyes. “Well, Face, you need to work on those instincts of yours if you’re going to survive here. Don’t be so naïve next time.” 

“There won’t be a next time, Major. I promise.”

* * *

But of course there had been a next time. Two more times, in fact, before Hannibal managed to pull the kid onto his team. Face had been wary of him at first, clearly embarrassed by his part in the whole initiation mess, but he’d caught Hannibal’s eye all the same. And the more Hannibal had watched him in action, the more impressed he’d been.

Face was fast, and he was strong, even though he was far from being the physically biggest recruit in the current class. He was clever as well, sharp-witted and quick to spot any flaws in plans, and equally quick to propose solutions or alternatives. He was trusted by his class-mates, and he trusted them in return; he was going to make an incredible Ranger, and Hannibal selfishly wanted the kid on his team, pulling in far too many favours to get the kid transferred over before he was even officially graduated.

He’s never regretted that decision, not for a second. 

They did eventually talk about that ‘initiation’ ceremony, just once, years after the event. Over a bottle of whiskey, Face had finally admitted he’d been worried he wasn’t from the right college, and didn’t have the right connections, and had hoped it would help him make a name for himself amongst the Rangers. Hannibal can smile thinking back on it now; Face made a name for himself easily enough without needing any damn boys’ club.

Over the years Hannibal has been honoured to watch Face grow into a brave and loyal Lieutenant, a talented sharpshooter, and a truly brilliant supplies officer. His name is whispered in the same hallowed tones as Hannibal’s own name. He’s a legend. Though maybe Hannibal is a little biased.

Face grew into his body too, filling out those promisingly broad shoulders even as his waist stayed slender and his legs long and slim. He got ripped, muscles seeming to grow over other muscles and an impressive six-pack appearing on his flat belly, and while the kid did work hard for his body, putting in long hours at the gym, Hannibal is thankfully confident Face’s occasional naivety never led him into steroids.

Face is funny and easy-going, utterly focussed on a mission then everyone’s best friend when the job is done. Face is gorgeous, inside and out, though Hannibal never believes his kid actually feels that way, and that always makes him a little sad. Hannibal will happily spend the rest of his life reassuring Face in whatever way he can, though he knows there’s a thread of neediness deep inside Face, and that naivety will still creep out from time to time as Face so obviously and desperately wants to be loved.

That neediness has led Face into danger more times than Hannibal cares to remember.

He can’t help but remember.

* * *

Face’s pupils were blown wide, a thin rim of bright blue barely visible around the edge of the dark pools Hannibal felt he could fall straight into. He could just about resist the urge to shake the kid hard by the shoulders, but he couldn’t find the strength to resist barking, “What the hell were you thinking?”

Those strangely dark eyes blinked up at him, innocently, and a wide grin split the kid’s handsome face. “Hannibal? When did you get here?” The words were slurred, husky in a way that went straight to Hannibal’s groin, and he gritted his teeth, reaching out to catch Face as he started to slump over sideways.

“You’re damn lucky I got here when I did.” Face giggled at that, his head coming to rest heavily on Hannibal’s shoulder, and most of Hannibal’s anger melted away in a heartbeat. The kid was in no fit state to realise what Hannibal had walked in on, and he pulled Face closer into a loose embrace. “Oh Face, honestly, what were you thinking? For that matter, what were you drinking?” 

There had been empty beer bottles scattered around the hotel room when Hannibal had burst in, though nowhere near enough to account for Face’s apparent level of intoxication: Hannibal had witnessed his lieutenant run a full obstacle course and shoot a near-perfect ninety seven percent on the rifle course after downing a full bottle of vodka, just for a dare. A few beers alone wouldn’t cause this.

Face giggled again, sinking further into Hannibal’s embrace, his muscular body warm and limp and trusting. “Just had a beer, boss,” he breathed, then hiccupped. “Mike bought them. Was good.”

Taking mental note of the name – the men in the room had taken off at a run as soon as Hannibal kicked the hotel door in – Hannibal sighed and swallowed down his rising anger again. “You’re stoned, kid. I think they slipped something in the beer.”

“It was just Mike, boss. He wouldn’t – ”

“There were four of them, Face. Four men who had you pinned down on the bed.” Face’s belt had been on the floor, his pants around his knees, but thank goodness Hannibal had arrived in the very nick of time, with the kid’s briefs safely in place. The image will still haunt him in his nightmares, though, probably for the rest of his life. “It wasn’t just Mike.”

But Face squirmed in his grip, managing to sit up and blink owlishly at Hannibal. “Mike wouldn’t do that. He’s a good guy. He likes me, boss. I like him, too.”

Hannibal’s heart clenched hard. He’d known for some time that Face’s sexuality was completely fluid, though Face had never said as much to him directly. Face couldn’t admit that to him, of course, not if he wanted to stay in the Rangers. Though if he did, maybe Hannibal would be able to admit to his own… preferences.

That wasn’t important, though, not here and not now.

“You are too trusting, Face,” he murmured, though Face was clearly losing his battle to stay awake, head wavering on his shoulders and his eyes opening less and less with every blink. Hannibal sighed again and tugged Face gently back into his arms. “Oh, kid. What am I ever going to do with you?”

* * *

In the short term, Hannibal had taken Face straight to the emergency room, the kid barely conscious by the time they’d arrived. He’d been spirited away by the doctors and spent a night sleeping it off in a cubicle, with Hannibal watching over him anxiously. His bloodwork had been suspiciously clean, his blood alcohol level low, and the conclusion had been that he’d been a victim of a date-rape drug, most likely rohypnol. 

They’d never caught the bastards involved, which was probably a good thing; Hannibal swore he wouldn’t be held responsible for his actions if he ever came face-to-face with Mike.

But as the years went by Hannibal still had to just watch as his kid headed out into the world with his heart open and a wide smile on his face. At work, Face has always been nothing but professional; in the field, he is exquisite and flawless, while on base he is more relaxed, friendly, yet as the years passed by he never strayed too far from Hannibal’s side.

And Hannibal had started to want more. If he’s honest with himself now, looking back, he had wanted more for a very, very long time. It hurts to even think about it now, when those years of lonely waiting have finally paid off.

Face had still slept around, the same as always, and Hannibal could only watch. Even as Face’s CO, he’d never felt he had any right to dictate what the kid did with his precious free time. The fact that he’d always wished Face would look at him the way he looked at some of his one-night-stands, well, that simply wasn’t relevant.

But then Sosa had blown into Face’s life like a tornado, and everything changed.

Six months of watching his boy tumble head-over-heels in love with someone Hannibal knew was utterly wrong for him. Six months of waiting for the inevitable moment it all fell apart. Six months of biting his tongue and trying to be the supportive friend Face needed.

Then the inevitable finally happened, and it was so much worse than Hannibal could have imagined.

Even now, Hannibal doubts he’ll ever be able to talk to Face about Sosa, nor about the fear he’d felt that miserable day as he’d driven around the base searching with increasing desperation for where Face might have gone to lick his wounds. Nearly twelve hours after he’d first heard the news through the grapevine, after leaving a dozen voicemails on Face’s phone and pestering every single connection Face had ever made, he’d finally returned home to find a soaked and shivering Face sitting on his front door step in the rain.

* * *

Hannibal had no idea just how difficult it would be to avoid saying the four words that he knew would crush Face even more, though that didn’t stop him thinking them, over and over and over: I told you so.

It wouldn’t help things, not when Face was sitting limply on Hannibal’s sofa, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks hollowed, shivering from the cold with his hair still dripping wet.

“I looked everywhere for you,” Hannibal said instead, carefully keeping his voice as normal as possible given the circumstances. He perched on his coffee table directly in front of Face, the kid’s knees parting slightly to make room for him, and started to roughly towel off the worst of the water from Face’s drenched body. “Where did you go?”

Face shrugged, letting Hannibal manhandle him. “Just went for a walk. Needed to clear my head a little.” 

Hannibal shook his head slightly in disbelief. Pointing out the fact that it had been raining heavily all day, with the added bonus of thunder and lightning, also wouldn’t help. “I was worried about you,” he admitted to Face instead, draping the towel over the kid’s head in attempt to dry his bedraggled curls. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Another shrug, then Face asked, “Did I need to? It’s all over the base, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” There seemed little point in lying, not when Face was indeed the talk of the entire base. He kept his voice soft and his hands gentle as he added, “You should’ve come to me, though, told me what happened. I would much rather have heard it from you.” 

“Why? So you could say ‘I told you so’?” Face laughed beneath the towel, a bitter, twisted little sound that made Hannibal’s heart hurt. How well the kid knew him. “I know you never liked her. I know you always thought she was using me. Well, guess what? You were right all along.”

True, Hannibal had never liked Charissa Sosa, but he’d never wanted this. Never wanted Face’s heart broken for the whole world to see. “It didn’t matter what I thought of her,” he told Face quietly, lifting the towel away to look into washed-out blue eyes. “She made you happy, and that’s all I ever wanted. That’s all I ever want for you.”

But Hannibal’s words didn’t quite seem to register; Face curled in on himself a little, still shivering, his gaze drifting off over Hannibal’s shoulder. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he next spoke. “I proposed to her, did you know that bit? And she told me she didn’t want me, not now she’d met the right people.” 

The whole base knew that Face had got down on one knee. The Bitch had made sure everyone knew she’d only used him for his connections, before she’d hopped on a flight to DC without even a backward glance.

Reaching behind himself to the armchair, Hannibal found his old fleecy blanket by touch and draped it around his boy’s shoulders, tugging and smoothing until Face was as wrapped up as he could be. He rested his hands on Face’s shoulders and squeezed gently until unfocussed blue eyes suddenly found his own, despair written in every line of that handsome face. “I’m sorry, kid, truly I am.”

Another bitter laugh. “No, you’re really not. You’re glad she’s gone.” 

And Hannibal simply couldn’t find the words to deny it.

* * *

It still amazes Hannibal even now, years down the line, how Face had thrown himself into that relationship with all his heart, trusting every single lie Charissa had told him when Hannibal, Murdock, BA and everyone else could see that she was using him. 

Hannibal knows Face just wants to be loved, and to love someone right back. Face loves company, though, and Hannibal’s boy had once again gone right back to sleeping around after the Bitch had left him. Hannibal had to once again watch the endless procession of one-night-stands, had to watch helplessly as Face pulled on a mask of confidence that fooled absolutely no one, until the cracks in his heart healed enough to let him genuinely smile again. 

Hannibal still hates himself for not being able to find the words to tell Face how he felt back then. Maybe, in another life, he had confessed all to Face, and Face would have fallen gladly into his arms. Or maybe, more realistically, Face wouldn’t have known how to handle it, not so soon after having his heart crushed.

They had both needed more time, Hannibal knows that now. And good things come to those who wait, who trust that those good things will come when they expect them the least.

“What are you thinking about, boss?” Face’s voice is little more than a whisper of breath across Hannibal’s bare collarbones, drawing him out of the maze of his memories and musings. He’d thought Face was still asleep, and had been lying as still as he could to let his boy rest a little longer, savouring these early morning moments together.

Hannibal tightens his arms around Face’s warm, relaxed body, pulling him as close as he can as they lie together in his bed, and deciding how best to answer. Honesty is always the best policy, he figures in the end, or nearly always.

“I was thinking about you,” he admits after a moment, and Face huffs a soft laugh, snuggling closer and nosing into Hannibal’s left pectoral. 

“Seriously?” 

“Thinking about last night. And about your big, trusting heart.”

“You can say it, if you want to say it.” Face lifts his head just enough to rest his chin on Hannibal’s collarbone, baby blue eyes shining brightly in the early morning light seeping through the open curtains. Curtains they never quite got around to closing last night, lost in the moment as they both were.

But Hannibal can only frown slightly, confused by Face’s words. “Say what?” he asks, and Face just smiles softly at him until Hannibal suddenly gets it. “Oh. You mean ‘naïve’?”

“Yeah.” Face’s voice is quiet, breathy almost, yet undeniably fond at the same time. “That made me smile last night when you said it. I’m so far from naïve that it’s just unbelievable.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” The words slip from Hannibal’s lips almost before forms the thought. “You never have done.”

Face starts stroking gentle circles on Hannibal’s bare stomach with one warm, calloused palm. “There’s nothing to get. Yes, I choose to see the best in people. Yes, that sometimes doesn’t end particularly well. But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Hannibal wishes he had a counter-argument to Face’s calm, quiet statement. But he has nothing. Because the kid is right, dammit.

And Face knows it too, the light in his eyes shining brighter still before he settles his head back down on Hannibal’s chest with a contented little sigh, his ear resting right over Hannibal’s heart. He doesn’t say another word, and for that Hannibal is grateful.

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” Hannibal says eventually, stroking one big hand up and down his kid’s long, supple spine. “I never thought we’d reach this point.”

“Same here.” Face all but melts into Hannibal, his muscles relaxing completely at Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal can tell he’s close to drifting back to sleep as he mumbles, “I thought you’d never want me.”

“Same here,” Hannibal echoes in a whisper, his throat tight with emotion.

“And all it took was one silly Christmas party.” 

And Face being stupidly naïve and far too trusting yet again, Hannibal thinks, though he wisely bites his tongue.

* * *

It seemed crazy that in ten years of working together, eight years since BA and Murdock joined them, this was the very first time they’d actually been at Benning to attend the forced revelry of the officers’ Christmas party. 

It wasn’t called that, of course. It was simply dubbed a ‘seasonal celebration’, though the gaudy Christmas tree in the corner of the mess hall spoke for itself, and Hannibal instinctively hated the whole thing from the moment he stepped into the room, just as he knew he would.

Flashing lights and thumping Christmas music, glittery decorations and holiday-themed cocktails, grown men and women happily wearing cheap Santa hats and reindeer antlers. Mistletoe pinned to every possible beam in an open invitation for a sexual harassment claim.

It wasn’t that Hannibal hated Christmas; far from it. But to him Christmas meant spending time with family and friends, not being forced to have fun with people you worked with and could barely tolerate at the best of times. He wondered how many people in the room would make fools of themselves that night, and how many would wake up tomorrow drowning in regrets.

Shaking himself, Hannibal plastered on a smile and accepted a glass of something bright pink from a junior officer. It was one night. He could make a show of enjoying himself for one night, then duck out early and head home to read his book with a glass of whiskey.

He was meeting Face and the boys there, having had to attend a late briefing for their next deployment, and Hannibal couldn’t help but wonder exactly how drunk the three Rangers would already be as he looked around the room trying to find them. The team were flying out in two short days’ time, to Iraq via Germany, and they would be out of country for their third consecutive Christmas. They would likely hit their eightieth mission together on this trip; his team deserved to let their hair down tonight, within reason.

Hannibal spotted Murdock first, surrounded by a large group of other pilots and flight crew, and reason had clearly already flown out of the window for all of them. They were laughing raucously, backslaps and high-fives the order of the day, and Murdock threw a jaunty salute from across the room as he spotted Hannibal before downing a large glass of what looked like water but was probably vodka and promptly falling off his chair.

Seeing the other pilots pitch in to help a giggling Murdock to his feet, Hannibal took a steadying breath and cast his eyes through the crowds until he found BA, thankfully in a more sober position, sitting at a table surrounded by some of the guys from the mechanical corps. BA raised his beer to Hannibal in greeting then went back to chatting with his buddies.

That was two out of three accounted for, and Hannibal had no idea what to expect from Face as he started to make his way through the room, exchanging hand-shakes and fist-bumps with those he knew, and with some he didn’t. He could see Russ over by the bar, holding court with a gaggle of young soldiers hanging off his every word, and nodded to a few of his fellow colonels keeping watch over the partying masses.

But no Face, which was oddly unnerving. Face was usually the heart and soul of any party, and when Hannibal couldn’t find him on the dance floor or near the buffet, he made his way towards the rear door which led out to the tiny designated smoking area. The kid didn’t smoke, but maybe he’d stepped out for some fresh air. It was hot in the mess with so many people crammed in.

And sure enough there he was, up against the far wall, being kissed within an inch of his life by some hulking great soldier who had his hand down Face’s pants, in full view of anyone who walked out there.

“What the fuck – ?” In two long strides Hannibal was across the yard and hauling the man off Face by the scruff of his neck. Some distant part of his brain recognised the soldier as part of Black Forest, who were passing through Benning at the moment, but that was far from being important. “How stupid can you possibly be, kid?”

“Hannibal?” Face blinked up at him with kiss-swollen lips. “How – ?” 

“Do you remember that you’re in the middle of a military base? Do you know how lucky you are that it was me who walked out here, rather than the general? Or one of the MPs?”

Rather than answering Hannibal, Face turned to the soldier instead. “But you said you’d locked the door?”

And at that, Hannibal simply hit the roof. “How can you still be so incredibly naïve, Face?” he shouted, shaking the kid by the shoulders had enough to bounce his head off the wall. “After all these years, after all the times I’ve had to – how can you still be so damn trusting? Ten years and you’ve learned nothing.”

“Not worth it,” muttered a voice from behind him as the other soldier clearly decided to make a hasty retreat, but Hannibal’s attention was entirely focussed on Face. 

Face, who looked suddenly hurt, sagging slightly in Hannibal’s tight grip. “Is that really what you think of me, boss? That I’m naïve?”

“You’re brilliant, Face, and you’re an incredible soldier. But sometimes you go and do something so ridiculously stupid, and I wonder where the hell your brain has gone.” Suddenly aware just how loud he was shouting, and wary of dragging anyone else out into the tiny yard, Hannibal tried to rein in his anger and forced himself to let go of Face’s shoulders. “How can I protect you when you keep making such naive mistakes?”

“Protect me?” Face laughed, a bitter bark that twisted his handsome features, as he pulled his pants and shirt back into some semblance of order. “You don’t need to protect me, Hannibal. You never did.”

In for a penny… “I don’t want you to get hurt,” Hannibal admitted with a sigh. “That counts here on base every bit as much as it does in the field. I worry about you, and I don’t ever want you to be hurt.”

Face paused, his frown turning suddenly thoughtful, and he stepped away from the wall closer to Hannibal, getting right inside his personal space. “And why, exactly, does that matter to you? Beyond the annoyance of having to train a new XO if I get discharged?”

This close, Hannibal could see the slight flush to Face’s cheeks, and could smell his spicy aftershave. Not drunk, though he’d clearly had a glass or two of that strange pink punch. And there was something oddly hopeful in those bright blue eyes in spite of their argument. “Face, I just – ”

“Hannibal, tell me. Please.” Another half-step closer, and Face lifted his right hand to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Why don’t you want me to be hurt? Why is important to protect me?”

They were so close that Hannibal wanted nothing more that to lean down and press his lips to Face’s, and for the first time ever he felt that maybe Face wanted that too. The hope blossoming in his own heart was reflected in Face’s mesmerising eyes, but before Hannibal could close the final inches between them he heard drunken singing and the banging of the door to the yard swinging open.

In unison they stepped back from each other – Face wasn’t quite so naïve after all, apparently, when it counted – before the kid quirked one eyebrow up at Hannibal. “Please tell me you want to get out of here, boss?” he breathed, and Hannibal could only smile and nod.

* * *

Now, Face is asleep again, his head heavy on Hannibal’s chest and his body warm against Hannibal’s side. In the end they hadn’t slept together in anything more than the literal sense, as much as both of them might have wanted to – this has been a long, long time coming, and the last thing Hannibal wants is to rush things.

He can barely believe that this is real, that Face actually wants him. Has wanted him for years, apparently, as Face had confessed in a nervous whisper while they were undressing each other with trembling hands late last night.

Finally they had shared their first kiss, without a single sprig of mistletoe in sight, Face’s lips every bit as soft and plump as they had always seemed. Face had kissed with what felt like every ounce of passion he had, his hands coming up to cup Hannibal’s cheeks as Hannibal wrapped his arms around Face’s narrow waist and hauled him close. But then Face had melted into Hannibal’s arms, willingly submitting to Hannibal’s taller and stronger body as they lay down together in Hannibal’s huge bed and curled up beneath the blankets, neither of them feeling the need to talk much, content just to enjoy the closeness.

Tomorrow, they will be on a flight out of the country, headed towards yet another war zone and mission number eighty as a team. Tomorrow, they will be heading into danger, and there will be a good chance that one or both of them won’t return, as there always is. 

But for today, Hannibal finally has Face to himself. His trusting, naïve boy is safe in his arms at last, and it feels as if all his Christmases have come early.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Secret Santa gift for Indigo in the Yahoo H/F group exchange 2019, for a set of wonderful prompts including 'naive Face' and 'protective Hannibal'.


End file.
